


Have No Mercy on Warts

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Series: Always Been a Pencil [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 17:58:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18579646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: One dramatic day in the life of Tyrion Lannister. Takes place several years post the epilogue of What is True, But Not Ideal.





	Have No Mercy on Warts

There were few pleasures so exquisite as stepping into a bookstore whose depths he had not yet plumbed. Tyrion inhaled the scent of collected papers, thickening the air. Sunlight came through a high window catching dust motes dancing in the air. 

“How long are we going to be here?” Tommen asked with only a hint of exasperation. A herculean effort for a fidgety sixteen year old. 

“You can set a half hour timer, then I’ll pack up and we can get lunch,” he assured him, searching and finding a sagging red armchair, pointing to it so Tommen could curl up with his phone and do whatever he did when he didn’t want to make eye contact with adults. 

The shelves were laden, but well organized. He’s recently become interested in surrealism and there were several good works here. Tysha, bless her ever generous heart, had commissioned bookcases to be built along the stairs up to their apartment above the bar for his birthday last year. They were barely a third full, something he was accidentally rectifying at a prodigious rate. 

“Uncle Tyrion,” Tommen appeared at his elbow, holding a slim volume under one arm. “I don’t think we can carry all those.” 

He glanced at the pile which was nearly of a height with himself. Tommen hadn’t had a growth spurt yet and was still barely five feet. 

“That’s troublesome,” he frowned. “Perhaps they can send them on.” 

“Do you need all of them?” 

“Well, no. Human beings need relatively few things in life, you know. Food, water, shelter, and company.” 

“So maybe pick ten or something?” 

“If I must.” 

He did manage to get the amount down to something they could handle together and bring them to the register. Too bad Bronn had picked this weekend to suddenly be sociable when it meant tagging along with Jaime, Brienne, and Loras to some brawl spectacular a few hours away.

“Did you want anything?” Tyrion asked offhandedly. Taking after his father, Tommen’s interest in the written word was minimal. 

“This one,” Tommen slid something behind the pile with a bright cover. “If that’s ok?” 

“I’m walking out with half the shop, I can certainly get one more.” 

He didn’t ask, sensing some tension in the boy’s frame. The tournament this morning had gone well. Tommen had even won a little money. But Tyrion remembered being sixteen all too well, how one’s skin never seemed to fit. 

They got the books into the trunk of the car with only some shuffling required.

“What do you want for lunch?” 

“Can we have something spicy?” Tommen asked hopefully. 

“As hot as you want.” 

They found a good small place a few blocks away that was serving curries of every color. Tyrion limited himself to something that would agree with his stomach while Tommen took down a dish that left his nose and eyes watering. 

“You can’t possibly be tasting anything under that burn,” Tyrion said amused. 

“It’s great,” Tommen shook his head. “I like when it bites back.” 

He didn’t say no to ice cream after though. They sat on a bench on the sidewalk, watching the desultory foot traffic. 

“Uncle Tyrion?” 

“Yes?” he inverted his spoon on his tongue, 

“I-um. Can I tell you something?” 

“I would hope so,” Tyrion started running through potential scenarios. 

“It’s just- I-” he stopped and looked miserably into his ice cream. 

“Tommen, it’s fine. If you made a mistake, we can fix it. If you committed a crime, then we can make it right-” 

“I’m gay!” the boy blurted out. 

“Oh-oh! Good. I mean, it’s not good or bad, just a neutral fact about you,” he turned to face the boy whose face was scarlet. “When did you realize?” 

“A few months ago,” he stirred his melting ice cream. “I wasn’t ready to talk about it. I thought-I thought maybe I’d tell you first because I knew you wouldn’t care.” 

“I certainly care because I care about you,” he said as gently as he could. “But it doesn’t change that you’re my best nephew.” 

“Because my brother is a sociopath?” 

“Well, it certainly gives you a leg up,” he joked, them sobered. “But also because you’re a kind, intelligent young man. I’m glad you told me.” 

“I’m nervous about telling Uncle Jaime and Brienne. That's what the book is for. It's about how to come out, you know?” 

“You know that they’ll be fine with it,” he searched his face. 

“Brienne will be, but I don’t know about Uncle Jaime,” he bit his bottom lip. 

Tyrion took a quick glance around, but no one was listening, “Your father would rather die than know he caused you an ounce of pain, Tommen.” 

“But he’s so...you know. A jock. He likes the gym and being tough.” 

“So does Loras,” Tyrion pointed out. “Sexuality has nothing to do with your interests. Look at me, I’m a bookish painter that likes to wear velvet and I’m about as straight as they come. And your father never gave me grief for it. Well, some. But he’s my brother, I think it’s legally required.” 

“I think I disappoint him. That I don’t care about the things he likes.” 

“Joffery disappoints him. He brags about you to anyone who will listen. Including me and I was there for most of it," he put on his best Jaime impression, “‘Did you know Tommen won volunteer of the year at the shelter?’ ‘Tommen is a mathlete’, ‘Oh, Tyrion, did you hear that Tommen made the Honor’s List.’ ‘Tyrion! Tommen got a speaking line in the school play!’” 

“I told him you just need B pluses to get on the honor’s list,” Tommen mumbled. 

“He couldn’t have managed that in school,” Tyrion pointed out. “No one cared if we did well, just that we finished. I can guarantee you that our father never bragged about us. Jaime is very proud of you. If you happen to like men instead of women, I don’t think that will factor into it.” 

“What about Mom?” 

“Well.” 

“Yeah.” 

They both stirred their ice cream contemplatively. Tyrion didn’t think of Cersei often these days. It would be easy to dismiss her as irrelevant, locked away with only the occasional written missive as proof of her existence. Yet, to Tommen she was Mother. 

“I think, at some point, we must all find a way to free ourselves of our reliance on our parent’s approval.” 

“Did you do that?” 

“No,” Tyrion snorted. “And your mother may very well say something terrible. All you can do is prepare yourself for that and decide what you want to do with it.” 

“Is crying a good plan?” 

Tyrion pat Tommen’s arm, “It’s certainly one I’ve relied on from time to time.” 

“Does anything work?” 

“I’ve gone with living well out of sheer spite and it’s worked out.” 

“Okay,” he nodded, “I think I can do that.” 

“Tell you what, how about we find an empty parking lot and you can practice driving.” 

“Really?” 

“Why not?” 

Tyrion’s car was modified with hand controls, but he figured the boy could learn both without much harm done. As he expected, Tommen was a timid driver taking everything very slow and careful. It was downright peaceful to turn lazy circles behind an abandoned stripmall in the spring afternoon air. 

Tyrion’s phone rang. He frowned, 

“Myrcella? Is everything okay?” 

“Can you come and get me? I want to get out of here for the weekend.” 

“Of course, I have Tommen with me. We were going to head back to my apartment after, but I can drop you home on the way.” 

“No! I-no. I don’t want to be home alone,” she choked. “Noel broke up with me. He said it was because I was high maintenance, but I found out he was dating one of my suitemates.” 

“Right, we’ll be there in twenty-minutes,” he passed the phone to Tommen. “Switch places. Talk to your sister while I drive.”

Tommen took the phone obligingly, but was clearly distressed by what he was hearing. It might do the boy good to have a bit of role reversal, Tyrion thought grimly. Myrcella took her role of big sister very seriously and was nearly another parent to him. 

“It’s okay, Cella, really,” Tommen was saying with a hint of desperation, “he wasn’t a good guy. I told you I didn’t like him. You deserve better. I-no, I would never ever do that to someone. I promise. Um-no, I don't think all men are evil, but some might be?” 

Tyrion might’ve speeded a little bit. They got there in seventeen minutes. The tall dorm building loomed over the street. Myrcella was sitting on the steps, holding her phone in an iron grip. Tommen practically flew out of the car while it was still moving. 

“You’re okay,” he was saying over and over, even as she pulled him into a suffocating hug. “It’s okay, you’re okay.” 

Myrcella was sobbing, clinging to her brother like he was a port in the storm. 

“Should I call Jaime?” Tyrion wondered vaguely. 

“No! No, you know what Dad or Brienne will do,” her breath hitched. “They’d go up there and punch him or something.” 

“He’s still in your suite?” Tyrion asked incredulously. 

“I told you, he’s with my suite mate now,” she gasped and started sobbing again. 

“I didn’t realize you meant at this exact moment,” he said horrified. “We’ll get you moved out as soon as possible.” 

“But-” 

“No. There’s trying not to make waves and then there’s masochism. Give me your keys. I’ll retrieve your laptop at least. Anything else you need?” 

“Textbooks,” she wiped her face with the back of her arm. “I have a paper due.” 

“Excellent,” he held out his hand for the keycard. “Tommen, please get your sister in the car. There are tissues in the glove compartment.” 

“I can get them-” Myrcella’s breath hitched. 

“Car now, please. I’ll just be a moment.” 

She handed over her keycard. He swiped it at the front door and headed inside. The elevator gave him just enough time to reign in his worst impulses. The keycard opened the suite, delivering him into the cluttered shared living area he’d only seen once before. There was another crowd around the couches. He ignored them for now and headed into Myrcella’s room. Her roommate was apparently absent, bed neatly made. Another commuter student, if he remembered rightly. Not that close, but fine. 

He found her backpack discarded by the door and carefully filled it with her books, laptop slotted neatly into its own pocket. Carrying a heavy weight on his back wasn’t a favorite activity, but he could bear it for a few minutes. Especially with the power of Lannister fury on his side. His last name might now be Grass, but it had been more of an aesthetic change than he might’ve hoped. 

Back in the suite area, he cleared his throat. Three heads came up guiltily. The girls all recognized him from his brief previous visits. 

“Where is our happy pair?” As one they pointed to the closed door. “And why was no one sitting with my niece?” 

“We didn’t know what happened,” one of them spoke up. “She just stormed out and they locked themselves in there.” 

“So you didn’t know that he changed bedrooms before doing Myrcella the courtesy of breaking up with her?” 

“He did what?” the speaker sat up. “That asshole!” 

“I hope you’ll consider ejecting him from your suite and perhaps never letting him in again.”

“Goddamn right we will,” she affirmed and the other girls chorused in agreement. 

He knocked on the closed door. 

“What?” someone barked from within. 

Charming. He tried the handle. Open. He pushed into the room. 

Tyrion had met Noel once. He was a very average fellow aside from a handsome face and excessive height. He hadn’t seemed cruel, but cruelty was rarely visible at first glance. Right now, he was laying flat on the bed, a young lady straddling his waist. Both were fully clothed, but clearly intent on not remaining the way.

“Ah, hello Noel,” Tyrion stepped into the room. “How are you?” 

“Mr. Lannister?” Noel half sat up. “What the-” 

“Mr. Grass, if you please. You should be thanking every star in the heavens that I am not Mr. Lannister,” he glanced at the girl. “My dear, you should have a step out.” 

“This is my fucking room!” She protested. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Edna Doranal, yes? You’re father owns a hardware store just a few down from my bar. We see each other regularly at Rotary Club. What should I tell him about your conduct here next time I see him? That you were a polite young girl or that you stabbed my niece in the back for a third rate boy with more balls then sense?” 

Edna exited her room, brushing past him with a mix of fear and disgust. He was used to that look on a stranger’s face and was by now mostly immune. 

“I’m not going to go back to her because you wanna threaten me,” Noel muttered, righting himself on the bed. 

“Oh no, you’ve got it all wrong,” Tyrion tapped his fingers against the strap of the backpack. “I would prefer if you never ever came near my niece again.” 

“It wasn’t like we were serious! It was just you know, like a thing.” 

“Yes, I’m sure she sees that now,” Tyrion regarded him. “I’m sure eventually she’ll see that you were a lackluster boyfriend and if I had to guess, a terrible fuck.” 

“Hey! You don’t know anything about me!” 

“On the contrary, I know everything about boys like you,” Tyrion sighed. “You’re as common as cement and twice as dense.” 

“Listen you pintsize motherfucker-” 

“I’d recommend that you listen to me,” Tyrion shifted Myrcella’s backpack. “I’m not interested in threatening you or scaring you. You’re less than nothing, a forgettable rock of a human. But Myrcella is not. She is a very loved girl with a family that spans every great house in this city. You just single-handedly slammed every door in you face. I only came in here to recommend that you consider moving as soon as possible.” 

“That’s a threat.” 

“No, you absolute donkey, it’s a statement of fact,” Tyrion rolled his eyes, “Lannister, Baratheon, Tyrell, Stark, Grass, and Tarth. Uncles, aunts, cousins, friends. And they will all know what you’ve done before the week is out. You’ll probably have to cross an ocean, but don’t go to Dorne. She went there on vacation once and became extremely close with the Martells.” 

“Is that supposed to scare me?” Noel scoffed. 

“It would scare me, but then again I have to brain cells to rub together,” Tyrion headed for the door. “Good luck, Noel. May you always get exactly what you deserve.” 

He could hear the suitemates starting to fight as he left, arguing with Edna and demanding Noel leave.

Myrcella took her backpack with red-rimmed eyes, “Thank you.” 

“Of course. Why don’t we get back to the apartment and you can choose the movie for the night. What are your feelings about M and Ms in the popcorn?” 

“It sounds gross and I want ten,” she sniffled. “Is Tysha home?” 

“She’ll be in around midnight. She had a late shift.” 

Theoretically, Tysha didn’t have to work at all. They’d had that discussion leading up to the wedding. He hadn’t been surprised when she refused his generous offer of early retirement tied up in a very favorable prenuptial agreement. 

“I’m going to work until I can’t,” she’d told him. “And if you try to leave me, I’ll kill you and make it look like an accident.” 

A wiser man probably would’ve insisted, but Tyrion was a romantic at heart. He couldn’t imagine leaving her and figured if he made a big enough mistake to lose her a second time, he deserved to lose half of everything. Or his life, apparently. He wasn’t really sure how serious she’d been about that part. 

He got all the way home, up the stairs (sometimes he wanted to go back and give his younger self a long lecture about masochism, there was just no reason to live on the third floor with no elevator) and had them mostly settled when his phone rang again. 

“Hello?” he jammed the mobile phone between his ear and his shoulder as he tossed the popcorn into the microwave. 

“Dad?” And his normally confident son, sounded utterly defeated. 

Fuck. 

“Rowan? What’s wrong?” 

“I did my shift at the E.R. today and someone died on me. Nancy said I shouldn’t drive, but I can’t remember where I left my bus pass and I’m so tired.” 

“Where are you?” He glanced into the living room where Tommen was poking Myrcella in the arm while she swatted at him, looking slightly less upset. 

“Still at the hospital. I just.. I just need to get back to my place.” 

“Look, your cousins are already here. You might as well just come join us for movie night, all right?” 

“I-yeah. Okay. Can you not tell Mom right away? She’s really used to patients dying and I know she has good advice, but I don’t think I can listen to it right away.” 

“She’s at work anyway. You can tell her yourself when she gets home if you want.” 

It was a very good thing that he’d busted through to the building next door after the last tenant left and expanded their apartment to have a second bath and two guest rooms. They would have a full house tonight. 

“All right, Rowan is joining us,” he announced. “Does anyone need anything while I’m out?”

Two mournful shaking heads. Wonderful. 

“I’ll be back soon, don’t let the popcorn burn.” 

Back down the stairs, back in the car, and driving back to the city center. The hospital was only a few blocks off from the dorm and he uncharitably wished that Rowan had had a crisis a half hour earlier for convenience’s sake. The sun was starting to go down when he arrived at the ER, heading inside. 

The intake nurse was talking to a man with a bleeding head wound. The desk was high, probably with less than ideal sightlines. With practiced ease, he sauntered straight by and started poking around until he found a room labelled ‘Staff Only’ that emitted the odor of stale coffee. 

He tried the knob. This one was sensibly locked at least. He knocked soundly. 

“Paging Dr. Grass,” he called. “His taxi is here.” 

The door swung open to reveal a very broken down break room including the glass pot of coffee steaming away. Rowan was framed by some very ugly brown curtains. He was wearing pastel green scrubs that didn’t do much for his complexion. 

“Hi, sorry, I should’ve waited outside.” 

“It’s fine,” he assured. “I parked in some reserved space, so let’s hop to.” 

“There’s plenty of visitor parking.” 

“But I’m not a visitor,” he said reasonably, moving down the hallway. 

“Dr. Grass!” Someone called. Rowan froze, then relaxed when he saw a pleasant looking nurse waving at him. “Did you get a ride?” 

“I did,” he gestured at Tyrion. “Dad, this is my favorite E.R. nurse Nancy Jacobi, Nancy this is my dad Tyrion.” 

Nancy stuck out her hand and Tyrion shook it gladly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Grass. Your son is one of our best residents in years.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” he gave her his best charming smile. “He’s always talking about how much he learns from the nursing staff. And I hear you may also make the best lemon bars in the world.” 

“Maybe just in the city, but I’ll take it,” she laughed. “See you on Tuesday, doctor.” 

“Thanks, nurse.” 

They made it out and Rowan was shaking his head, “You didn’t have to schmooze her. We’re already friends.” 

“Nonsense,” Tyrion got into the driver’s seat. “Schmoozing is what I’m best at and if I can use it to make your life even a fraction easier, why not?” 

“Fine, I guess.” 

There was a broad silence and Tyrion bit the bullet, 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“It was just awful," Rowan exploded out, his hands tight fists, "I thought I was ready for it. That I could keep a cool head and it was just how things are, but I wasn’t ready.” 

“I doubt anyone could be ready.” 

“It doesn’t bother mom.” 

“I’m sure it did once upon a time. She’s an empathic person and watching someone die must hurt. She’s also experienced terrible trauma and learned to compartmentalize, something I hope you never have to do.” 

“I have to figure out something, I can’t fall apart every time I lose a patient.” 

“Why not?” 

Rowan frowned, “It’s just unprofessional.” 

“Did you fall apart in front of the patient’s family?” 

“No,” he said reluctantly. “I wasn’t great, but I said all the things they trained us to say. Only Nancy saw me get upset. And the other nurses in the room. I don’t want them to judge me for it.” 

“If anyone judges you for having a natural human response to death, I’m not sure you should give a shit about their opinion,” he watched the road, glad they weren’t having the conversation face to face. “If you have to find a private space to cry or rant or throw things after someone dies in front of you, I think that’s something you should do.” 

“I didn’t even know this guy. He was just in this really bad hit and run. Just on the street and he bled out while we were doing triage. I couldn’t revive him. I did everything right.” 

“Sometimes we do everything right and it’s still wrong,” Tyrion frowned. “It’s one of the great injustices of the universe.” 

“I should’ve become a tour guide. I’m good at that,” he groused. “No one dies walking around monuments.” 

“I’m sure someone has had to at some point. And you’re a good doctor. You might just need to recoup. Watch movies with your cousins. They have plenty of drama to distract you.” 

“There’s drama?” Rowan perked up. 

“Mm, I’m sure you’ll hear all about it.” 

Rowan took the stairs up to the apartment two at a time when they arrived. Tyrion took them much slower. His left hip gave a twinge. Reaching down to cup it, he tried not to think about medical studies and hip dysplasia. It was too easy to get sucked into that kind of thinking. At the top, he realized his new books were still in the trunk. He looked mournfully down the stairs and gave them up for lost for the night. 

“Uncle Tyrion!” Tommen chimed. “Can we order pizza?” 

“Yes, absolutely,” he said, relieved they didn’t want him to produce anything from the kitchen. “Party rules apply: one plain, fight amongst yourselves about the toppings on the second. I’m only interested in the victor.” 

A drink would've been perfect just then, but Tysha had asked him to cut back and he’d agreed that it was probably not a bad idea. A hard thing to enforce when one owned a bar. He had moved all of his personal stock into the basement which had helped some. Instead he poured himself a soda and took two pain killers to ward off an incipient headache. 

“Uncle Tyrion?” 

“Yes, Cella?” he called back, resting his forehead briefly against the cool marble of the countertop. 

“Do they make rainbow pizza? Rowan says coming out parties should have rainbows.” 

“I’ve got family in the family!” Rowan yelled, sounding far more upbeat. 

“We’re having a party?” Tyrion could handle a party. Parties made sense. 

“A small one,” Rowan waved a hand to indicate the room. “You know, just us, but we should celebrate it. Since it wasn’t a very celebrate-y kind of day.” 

“Big doctor word,” Myrcella had a small smile on her face. 

“I’m very smart,” Rowan agreed. 

“Do you want a cake?” Tyrion turned to Tommen. “Rainbow cake seems reasonable.” 

“A cake would be nice,” he said cautiously. “But we don’t have to make a big deal.” 

“Trust me, it’s great to have a good big deal. You’ll have bad deals later. Today, we’re going to cheerlead,” Rowan said staunchly. “We can just make a cake. There’s food coloring from Mom’s birthday and a few cake tins too.” 

The kitchen had seen better days by the time they were done. In making the cakes, Rowan had found some ancient kool-aid packets and explained how he used it to dye his hair when he was younger. Tyrion refused to be responsible for Tommen’s interest or the subsequent use of his sink and the amount of colored substances on every surface. 

The thick streak of green did look adorable on him. But most things just increased Tommen’s general adorable factor. Maybe he’d grow out if it, but being an adorable adult was working for Podrick so it would be fine either way. 

“I always wanted a piercing,” Tommen said while he studied his new look in the mirror. Rowan’s face was next to his and it was always startling to see the matching line of their jaws and the shape of their eyes. That was his stamp on another person’s face as clear as Jaime and Cersei’s on Tommen’s. 

“Hair I can deal with, but if you want a piercing it won’t be on my watch,” Tyrion said firmly. “Jaime’s tolerance for my fun uncle privileges only extends so far. Now clean my kitchen, wretched children.” 

He choose to take Rowan whistling ‘It’s a Hard Knock Life’ as they cleaned as a sign of recovery. Smart ass. 

“What should we watch next?” Tommen asked when all was tucked away. 

“Nothing about love,” Myrcella said firmly. “And no slapstick comedy.” 

“Nothing too gory,” Rowan followed up. “But I could do horror if wasn’t too bad.” 

“I have just the thing,” Tyrion found what he was looking for and started it up. 

The movie started up. 

“Dad, is this Ocean’s 11?” 

“Yes.” 

“Cool.” 

They watched a heist and Tommen fell asleep jammed against the arm of the couch. Myrcella elbowed him hard and made him go to bed. She said good night herself while she was at it. 

Rowan sighed, head tilted back on the couch, once more a picture of melancholy. 

“Why didn’t you call Sansa?” Tyrion wondered aloud. It hadn’t occurred to him until just that moment, but surely she would’ve been the first choice for comfort. 

“The guy died the same way her father did,” Rowan shrugged miserably. “It seemed mean to remind her of that because I was sad.” 

“You don’t have to tell her the details, you realize?” 

“I don’t like leaving things out with her. People have lied to her a lot.” 

“Noble,” Tyrion agreed. “But in the case, very stupid. I’m sure she doesn’t care how someone she never met expired. I do think if she knew you were distressed and didn’t call her because you were worried about upsetting her delicate feelings...”

“She’d be hurt,” Rowan frowned. “It’s late now.” 

“So text first. If nothing else, you’ll get a pleasant phone call in the morning.”

Rowan got out his phone and shot off a text. The phone rang a bare minute later and Tyrion absented himself to his bedroom. He had a half-read novel on the end table and decided it would have to do without his new acquisitions to pour over. With a sigh, he slid on his reading glasses. They were attractive things, light gold frames, but they reminded him of the passage of time in an unpleasant way. He settled in his chair by the window, feet up on an ottoman. 

Twenty minutes or so later, Rowan was knocking on the door frame. His eyes were red-rimmed, but overall demeanor much improved. 

“She said I should’ve called her earlier.” 

“Mm, she’s a wise woman.” 

“I’m really really in love with her,” Rowan leaned his head against the dark wood. 

“Yes, it’s been difficult not to notice for the last few years,” he said, not without fondness. 

“How’d you know that you wanted to marry Mom?” 

“Which time?” 

“Either. Both.” 

“The first time it was because I was nineteen and she was beautiful and thought that I was handsome,” he considered. “And we both thought it was very romantic, I suppose. Also she was kind and thoughtful. Seemed to think my jokes were funny. The second time...I never stopped loving her. I probably would’ve loved her until the day I died even if I never saw her again. Whatever it took to convince her to stay with me, I would've done. Marriage was easy.” 

“Things like that don’t happen to real people.” 

“No, but they do seem to happen frequently to people with Lannister blood. We don’t love many, but when we do it’s fiercely.” 

“I have Lannister blood.” 

“Yes,” Tyrion watched his face. “For better or for worse. You wear it well.” 

“I wanted to be with Sansa forever when I met her,” he said as if it pained him. “But we live so far apart and I don’t think she wants to be tied down.” 

“Are you looking for advice or do you want a listening ear?” 

“I don’t know,” he finally stepped into the room, new territory. After a moment’s hesitation, sat on the ottoman at Tyrion’s feet. “Is this blue suede?” 

“Yes,” he had purchased it for a particular reasons, but none that Rowan ever needed to know about. “So, your lady love lives north and has commitment issues.” 

“No! I mean...yes, sort of. We’re monogamous and everything, but I think she’s afraid if we get engaged I’ll be someone else somehow.” 

“You couldn’t be like Joffery if you tried,” he said, outing the elephant in the conversation. “I hope you have no reason to meet him, but as Bronn likes to say ‘that boy was a wrong one’.” 

“I mean I know that, and I think she knows that. But it’s hard for her.” 

“She did live through hell.” 

“And let another Lannister date her anyway.” 

“A Grass,” Tyrion nudged him with his sock covered toes. "She’s a smart girl, she knows that. She knows you.”

“Love is the worst,” Rowan flopped backwards, hair flying in every direction. 

“You know, I really thought going back in time and meeting my younger self would be pleasant, but it’s distinctly unsettling,” Tyrion decided.

“You can have a good old fashioned melancholy pining session if you want, but I think what you need is a glass of water, a good night’s sleep, and your mother to fuss over you in the morning.” 

“That makes me sound like a twelve year old.” 

“According to Brienne, water, sleep, and love heal most wounds in people of all ages.” 

“She’s smarter than us.” 

“No shit,” Tyrion snorted. “Don’t tell her though. I need some kind of advantage or she’ll make me redundant in my own business.” 

“Is this your way of telling me you want to go to bed?” 

“Do you see your mother here?” 

“No?” 

“Then no. I don’t sleep until she gets home. This is my way of telling you that you’re exhausted. If you still want to talk about your love woes in the morning, I’ll listen.” 

“Thanks,” Rowan levered himself onto his elbows, “Okay. Good night, Dad.” 

“Good night, son.” 

Rowan vacated and left blessed quiet at last. Tyrion hadn’t felt so depleted in months. The emotional well being of others was generally outside of his wheelhouse. Or had been for many years. Aside from offering Jaime an ear now and again, the years between nineteen and thirty-eight had been mostly an emotional vacuum where he could indulge himself and no one else. 

Then came Brienne, who washed up on his broken shore with a single paddle and had never hesitated to share it with him. She required more from him than Bronn, wanted someone to be equal to her thoughtless selflessness and stubborn kindness. In some ways, she’d fully brought his brother back to him. And then these children. These children who needed and wanted and for some reason thought he could provide. 

So he tried to be friend, uncle, father and brother as best as he could. Maybe he had them all fooled, but today he just felt tired and tested. A little irritable and sore beneath it. Not that very long ago, he could’ve spent this day entirely on his own designs filled with pleasure of words, paint, liquor, and a paid companion. 

Then he heard her tread on the stairs. Her cane first, a distinct click and then her feet, somehow so light they barely creased the air with the sound of their landing. 

He set aside his book and took off his glasses. The day’s clothes were cast aside and he wrapped himself in his dressing gown as if he were really just going to get into bed. He might not sleep without her there, but he did try to maintain some shreds of illusion for his tattered dignity. 

Then through the doorway she sailed, still in her pale pink scrubs and her hair pulled back in a severe braid. 

“You look beautiful,” he told her. 

“Thank you,” she laughed and sat down on the blue chair to take off her practical shoes. The blue suede that made her pale skin glow in contrast. Picked precisely to frame her body in every stage of undress. “I saw your text about a full house.” 

“It’s been a very long day,” he watched her greedily as she removed her top to reveal a practical plain white bra. “How was yours?” 

“The usual. Danya called out sick, so a lot of running around. Nothing terrible,” she scooted her pants out from under her. She was wearing blue silk underwear. “What made yours so long?” 

“Oh, the usual. Heartbreak, identity crisis, loss. I solved most of it with sugar and movies.” 

Just seeing her here where once there had been only a painted memory, recharged his battery to full. 

“Come and kiss me,” she invited, arms open.

He went and forgot himself in her arms. The chair had seen more love making than even their bed with its convenient angles and interesting textures. Afterwards though, they climbed into their pile of blankets and pillows. She had approved of his decadent nest from the beginning and he’d been happy not to banish his sensual pleasures. 

“I did have someone tip me off to something interesting today,” she stroked his hair, ever fascinated with his curls, playing the around one finger than another. 

“Mm? Was it that your husband is very in love with you? Because I’d hope you’d know that by now.” 

“Shut up,” she laughed. “And yes, I do know that. I love you too. No, a patient's friend mentioned an artist’s retreat in the mountains. It’s rentable for a few days at a go, already filled with art supplies and good views. Surrounded by other artists.” 

“You had me until that last part.” 

“Oh, it’ll be good for you,” she chided. “And me. We could both use some time somewhere new. I haven’t even opened my watercolors in weeks.”

“Maybe we can trade. I’ll teach you my oils and you can show me your watercolors,” he suggested idly. 

“Something to try. Should we book it for the next long weekend?” 

“As long as Brienne can take the bar.” 

“She already told me we should take it since they were away for this one,” she kissed his shoulder. 

“Excellent,” he reached over just enough to turn off the light. 

“Is Rowan all right?” she asked as they shuffled into their usual positions. She had a pillow that she liked to shove under her right hip and a hand flung over his head. He turned to her, reaching out to rest his fingers on the curve of her ribs. 

“He’ll tell you in the morning, but I think he’s fine. Growing pains of a young doctor. Lovelorn.” 

“I like Sansa,” she yawned, “I hope they figure things out.” 

Tyrion had given up on hope a long time ago. You had goals and your drove towards them until you crashed headlong into achievement with a lot of collateral damage. Wishes and hopes and dreams didn’t figure into his philosophy. Happy endings were for stories captured on paper, not real life. 

He closed his eyes, inhaled the scent of her rosemary shampoo and sweat. Felt the rise and fall of her chest under his hand. 

“They will,” he smiled into the pillowcase. “Water, a good night’s sleep, and a little love fixes nearly everything, you know.”


End file.
